The Muggle Experience
by featherxquill
Summary: Before the beginning of each school year, the Headmaster or Deputy must visit muggle parents to explain the magical world to them. Albus convinces Professor McGongall to take Sybill Trelawney to help with a certain muggle couple. COMPLETE
1. Inner Eye

Minerva sighed pointedly, peering at her twinkling companion with narrowed eyes, as though searching for some ulterior motive.

"And why must we go together, Albus?"

He chuckled and shook his head. "I would have thought that would be obvious, Minerva."

Her glare almost wiped the smile from his face. "Well, obviously, Albus, it _isn't_, or I wouldn't be asking."

On of his eyebrows twitched. "True. You know the duty of explaining magical education to muggles is something I usually only entrust to you or myself, but in this case I feel Sybill's input will be a benefit."

Minerva's tone was dry. "I can only imagine what kind of people they are."

"Not the worst kind, Minerva. They will at least be open to the idea that their child is magical. I do, however, think that left alone with them, you might just curse them."

She arched one thin eyebrow, amused. "And being alone with Sybill? Does it not matter if I curse her?"

His keen, smiling gaze penetrated hers. "Well, I don't think it would addle her brains any more than they already are, do you?"

She couldn't help a small laugh, that time. "Indeed not." Realising he was getting her off track, she shot a calculating glance at him. "But I still do not see what this has to do with me going with her."

"Never could slip anything past you, Minerva." He said it as though he didn't know it already. "I really don't think it would be a good idea to inflict her upon Muggle London, all by herself. While the particular muggles in question will appreciate her… unique manner, I doubt the rest of London's population will."

Minerva shook her head, but could not help but smile. "So I'm what? A babysitter? A translator?"

He twinkled. "A guide, perhaps. You do know muggle London rather well. Better even than I do."

She found that hard to believe, but she accepted the flattery. "All right."

"And as far as cursing her, I would appreciate it if you could exercise some of that legendary iron self control."

"I _suppose_ I can." She waggled her brows at him. "Though you do know that said control is often more legendary than it is real."

He waggled his brows right back. "Indeed."

Minerva attracted all sorts of strange glances as she took a seat inside the Leaky Cauldron. It was rare that anyone in there wore jeans and a blouse, let alone that it was Hogwarts' Deputy Headmistress. She glanced at her wrist watch and scowled. Sybill was late.

When she did arrive, a full fifteen minutes after the agreed time, Sybill Trelawney looked, if possible, even more outrageous than she usually did. Her frizzy mop of curls was held back from her face with an electric purple, satin bandana, accentuating the hugeness of her thick rimmed glasses, making her look like some kind of demented butterfly. The skirt she wore was green, with a gauzy, pixie hemmed overlay that floated about her ankles, and it clashed abominably with her blue, ruffle sleeved blouse. As if to add icing to an already ruined cake, there was a red crochet shawl around her shoulders that had a tasselled hem, threaded with small round beads that clacked together as she moved.

Minerva had to fight not to cover her face with her hand.

Those huge, round eyes scanned the room for a moment, found her, and the figure swept forward. Her voice held a misty sort of quality. "My apologies for the lateness, Minerva, I consulted the orb this morning and was warned against leaving the house before ten oh eight am."

Minerva bit back a scathing remark, rising from her seat. It would not do to _start _the day on bad terms. "Well, I'm pleased you arrived safely thanks to the intervention of the orb. Shall we be off?" She hadn't meant to sound quite so sarcastic, but couldn't really help it.

"Lead the way, Minerva, Goddess of Wisdom, worst poet in history."

She was glad she _was_ leading the way. Had Sybill been looking at her, she would have seen the scowl of fury that creased Minerva's face.

The ride on the London tube trains was near unbearable. Minerva knew the muggle world because she had lived in it for a few years, but Sybill had never so much as boiled an egg. The Divination professor smelled strongly of lavender, and she pressed herself so close to Minerva that at times, she felt she could not breathe. She found herself speaking words of encouragement as she would to a young child, as those comically large eyes widened at the noises and lights.

"In all my wanderings, my inner eye has never seen such things!" Her voice was a whisper, in what Minerva assumed was the same tone she used with her students. It had less of an effect on the cynical transfiguration mistress. At least she had the good sense to speak quietly, though.

"Your inner eye must be rather selective then, Sybill. The muggle world surrounds us. It is really not that difficult to understand. Their society functions on mechanics, electricity, ours on magic."

"But I sense that their auras are clouded, hazed! They are dry, barren of the sight!" Her voice was growing theatrically louder, and Minerva glanced about, worried that they might have attracted attention. The muggles seemed absorbed in themselves, but it was hard to tell. Underestimating them was a very bad idea.

"Sybill, keep you voice _down_. And stop being so theatrical. It has no effect on me."

"Ah, yes, Minerva, ever vigilant. They could be listening, no? But you do not see as I do. You do not see the horror of their existence. You do not know the horror of your own. To not be able to _see!_" She lifted a hand to her forehead and slumped back against the vinyl seat.

"Well, Sybill, I've managed well enough for seventy years." She muttered. "_I _don't see how one could live in only one form, so I suppose we're even." There was a curious understanding in that statement that Minerva wasn't sure she liked. The last thing she wanted to think was that she understood Sybill in any way, shape or form. It might just mean that she was going senile, or losing her mind.

The train passed the stop before the one they wanted. Taking the lead once more as though her companion were a child, Minerva gripped Sybill about one birdlike upper arm. "Come on, we're almost there."

The muggle apartment building was not much to behold. In a dirty little area of London, it was generously decorated by local wall artists with all sorts of lewd, spray painted messages. Minerva glanced at the sheet of paper Albus had given her. Level eight, room 312. Theodore and Elaine Munt. Their daughter was called Serenity. Minerva could not help but feel sorry for her.

After a brief explanation through the intercom that they were here to talk about Serenity's education, Minerva and Sybill were given admittance to the foyer. Leading Sybill through, though not physically this time, Minerva pressed the button that would bring the building's elevator to them. The muted rumble announced its arrival, and the doors slid open. Sybill emitted a whimper of fear.

"My inner eye warns me against this course of action, Minerva, I see a death trap, I see disaster. We should take the stairs."

Minerva rolled her eyes, frustrated. If the woman was claustrophobic, why could she just not come out and say it? Her reply was terse. "It is on the eighth floor, Sybill. I'm too old to walk up that many flights of stairs just because of a prediction of doom. It won't take us long. Come on." And she stepped inside. Sybill, peering at the doors as though they were going to come closed on her as she tried to enter, edged forward slowly, then darted in after her. Minerva pressed the eight, and the doors closed.

Albus had been right. If it weren't for the fact that the gaudy shawls and the strong perfume had put the muggle couple on an immediate wavelength with Sybill, Minerva probably would have cursed them. They were like a muggle equivalent of Sybill, what the muggle-born wizards of the sixties she had taught had referred to as 'hippies'. Only it seemed they had never gotten over it. If it had been up to Minerva to communicate with them, she would have been beating her head against the wall of the dingy little apartment.

It was as though the couple had prepare for their arrival, but even more strange to realise that they had not, that this was how they lived and dressed on a daily basis. Theodore wore his hair long, with a fringe that he had to lift out of his eyes to greet them. He was blonde, though there was a yellowish quality to it that suggested he had used a badly made tinting potion. On this day he was dressed in a pair of brown jeans and a bright yellow long sleeved shirt that sported ruffles at the cuffs, around the neck and down the front. Glancing at his wife, Minerva had to concede that they matched. Elaine rivalled even Sybill. Blonde, her hair was long, in a style that should have remained in the era she seemed to be stuck in, she wore a long purple skirt made from mismatched panels of cotton and satin, and a blouse which made Minerva's head spin, so frenzied were the designs. Around her neck were about five sets of beads, and at least double that on either wrist. Every finger had a ring. The earrings that dangled from her lobes were as big as small saucers.

The four of them were invited to sit in a circle on the floor, a floor covered in rugs and pillows and various odd shaped soft things. The décor was garish, oranges and yellows and browns in hideous swirls and tie dyes. The walls and corners of the room were inhabited by potted plants, explosions of greenery that surrounded the apartment's inhabitants with a veritable jungle

Sybill lay her hands out, open, by her sides, and closed her eyes. "Come, let us all join hands and thank the cosmos for this beautiful occurrence, so they may smile down upon us and the future of the young one."

Reverently, Theodore and Elaine extended their hands, twining their palms together. Elaine's hand slid into Trelawney's grasp, and, reluctantly but willing to do whatever it took to get this _over_ with, Minerva took hold of one of Sybill's dry claws, and allowed Theodore to take her other hand.

Sybil rocked, and her voice, when she spoke, came out high and lilting. "O moon Goddess, O stars, bless us these people here, and help them to understand the magic in the world, and that their daughter is gifted with such magic." The two muggles were watching her with and expression of awe, taking in her words and mimicking her rocking. Minerva had to remember not to be impressed. This wasn't playing to the crowd. This was actually Sybill.

She opened her eyes, and her misty tones were back. "I have looked to the stars and I have seen the magic within your daughter. She possesses a powerful gift, and it must be honed and trained. If not, great doom will befall her. The orb instructed me to come to you today and bring this message. Serenity must be trained at our school."

For the first time, an element of practicality showed through onto Elaine's face. "School? There is a school?"

"Yes. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. We magical folk are many, more than you might realise, and we have built for ourselves a shelter from the harshness of those outside, a place where we may live and teach our young ones in peace."

Minerva's hands had gone sweaty, holding the others, and she moved as if to extricate herself. Sybill's voice rose shrilly. "Do not break the circle, Minerva! This is a circle of truth and unity, a symbol of all that has come together between us, joined now as we are by the girl, Serenity."

_Oh, for the love of Merlin._ Minerva fought not to scowl. Instead, she decided to inject a small amount of normality into the conversation. "Your daughter will study at the school for seven years, at which time she will be a fully qualified witch, and may pursue a career in the magical world, or may return to your world if she so chooses." Both of the muggles looked at her as though just noticing she was there, and neither looked very impressed by the cool practicality of her tone. It seemed they were much more at home with Sybill's theatrics.

"I foresee the impact your daughter will make upon _both_ worlds, and it is great. She must be encouraged toward this goal, into this life, for she cannot begin to realise her destiny without your input."

Minerva wondered vaguely where Sybill was pulling all this from. She doubted the woman could foresee so much as tomorrow's weather, but the sheer size and imagery of her imagination was mildly impressive.

It went well. Painfully slowly, and with enough clichés and platitudes that Minerva wanted to tear her hair from her skull, but well. The strange muggles were nothing short of in love with Sybill, and the very idea of their daughter possessing magic powers was beyond their wildest dreams. Minerva was uncharacteristically silent, even as they departed. Apart from the fact that she feared opening her mouth would lead to screaming her frustration, she didn't feel that those muggles were on the same channel as her, anyway. Before they departed, Minerva had watched Elaine press something into Sybill's hands as though making an offering to a deity. "To help you _see_", she had said. It might have looked a little more dramatic than it had, if in the next moment one of Elaine's bangles had not caught itself in Sybill's shawl, forcing the two women to go into a complex untangling dance that _almost_ made Minerva laugh.

It was thus with great pleasure that she stepped out from the threshold of the apartment, and into the relative freedom of the hallway. Now all they needed to do was get back to Diagon Alley with all their limbs intact, and all would be well. Except perhaps for Minerva's nerves. Albus was going to _pay_ for this. He was going to _pay._ It was only as they were leaving that she realised just how thoroughly his flirting and twinkling eyes had manipulated her. He would have been quite able to come on this visit with Sybill himself.

Minerva pressed the down button on the elevator's panel, and Sybil grabbed her wrist. "I must caution against this, Minerva. My inner eye is insistent. It sees not a method of transportation but a pathway to catastrophe."

"Your inner eye needs glasses." And with that stepped once again into the elevator, forcing Sybill to follow. She pressed the ground key, and could not help but glance at her colleague as the machine whirred to life, and they started to descend.

_7, 6, 5, 4…_ thud.

The elevator shuddered to a halt. Sighing, Minerva pressed the ground key again. Nothing. One more time. Nothing.

She glanced at her companion, who was beginning to wring her hands, eyes darting about like a caged animal. This was all she bloody well needed. Faulty muggle machinery. She was never going to hear the end of this. They would have to see how far they were down, perhaps climb out through the gap, or apparate out. Minerva pressed the button to open the door. Nothing.

"It's malfunctioned." She glanced up at the security camera in one corner. "I hope that means the muggle security has malfunctioned as well. We'll have to apparate, despite the risk of exposure."

Sybill nodded, as if not trusting herself with her voice.

"I suppose I'll see you back at school then, with the new year."

"See you then."

Minerva closed her eyes and pictured her location, that lovely holiday cabin in the Highlands. She pictured the roaring fire, and her white haired companion waiting for her beside it. She willed herself there. A whip crack, and the sense of rebounding off something.

Still in the elevator.

A drop of dread in her stomach as her mind clicked and she realised the problem. "Iron, it's made of iron." Iron was, of course, in large quantities, a natural barrier against magic. She massaged her temples with one hand, then rolled her head back on her neck. Sybill, beside her, had started to breathe heavily, to hyperventilate.

"I warned you, Minerva, I told you something like this would happen!" The misty quality of her voice was gone, now it was shrill with panic.

The frayed nerves Minerva had been nursing all afternoon snapped, and she turned on her fellow professor. "When do you ever predict anything _but_ doom!"

The normally composed transfiguration professor found herself unable to hold back her fiery, Scottish temper. With a cry of frustration, she kicked the iron door with one booted toe, and banged a fist against it. "Shit!"


	2. Trapped

For a moment, Sybill seemed more profoundly surprised by Minerva's outburst than she was worried about them being trapped. Her eyes widened, an affect vastly exaggerated by her glasses. Then the reality of their situation seemed to pierce her brain once again.

"H… how will we get out?" The quiver in her voice was obviously an effort to not sound out of control, but it wasn't very successful. Minerva could still hear it, barely contained hysteria.

She looked around, running her fingers over the cool metallic surface. "There is usually some sort of emergency telephone, for just such an occurrence." After a short search, she came to a panel that slid back, exposing a blue telephone receiver. She'd never used an emergency phone before. There were no buttons. She lifted it to her ear.

"Hello? Is someone there?" It was seconds before she realised it was ringing.

Behind her, Minerva could hear Sybill's continuously rising noises of terror. A gruff male voice answered. "You're stuck in the elevator."

"Yes. What's going on?"

"There's been a power outage. I'm afraid the elevator runs on our main circuit. The lights and security system are run by an emergency generator, so they should stay on for you. We're trying to trace the source of the blackout. We'll do our best to have it running again within the hour."

Minerva was incredulous. "Within the _hour!_ You're going to make us wait in here for an _hour_?"

"Ain't not much else we can do. Sorry. Doing the best we can."

"Well, we'd appreciate it of you could do it as quickly as you can, as well."

"We are; I assure you."

"Thankyou." She hung up.

Sybill was still making noises that sounded faintly animal. Minerva mashed her face with one hand. Of _all_ the people to be trapped inside an elevator with. Deliberately, she kept her voice measured, turning to face the other woman.

"Calm down, Sybill. Their power has failed, that's all. They said it might take an hour to get it running again."

Taking a huge, rattling breath, Sybill glared at Minerva from under her eyelashes. "I _warned_ you. I _told _you."

Minerva sighed. "Yes, well, that's rather beside the point now, isn't it? I don't have a time turner to reverse the decision. So I suggest we make ourselves comfortable." With that, she leaned back against the cool steel wall of the elevator, and allowed her feet to slide from under her. It wasn't the most forgiving of surfaces, but with muggle security cameras monitoring them, she could not very well transfigure herself a sofa.

She peered up at Sybil from her seated position. "Are you just going to stand there for an hour or more?" Arc of a thin brow.

If it were possible for a sigh to be pointed and accusatory, that was the sound that came from Sybill's lips as she followed Minerva's example, and settled herself in one corner, arranging the shawl about her shoulders as if it were a protective barrier. The gift the muggle woman had given her was now beside her on the floor.

Sybill was twisting one of the shawls tassels about her fingers. She didn't look at Minerva when she spoke. "And what if they do not get us out in an hour? Will we run out of air?"

Minerva shook her head, even though the other woman's eyes were not on her. "No. These machines have sufficient ventilation." She wasn't entirely sure she was correct, there, but she wasn't about to share that particular doubt with Sybil. It had been a long time since she'd immersed in the muggle world. Elevators had been different, then. "Besides," she couldn't help it, "I don't know what you're so worried about. You spend your whole life in a tiny tower full of perfumed fire. How much fresh air could you possibly _get_ up there, anyway?"

"I am not really _there_, Minerva. I travel the astral plane." Whenever she spoke of such things, her voice took on its misty quality, as though the theatrics were so learned by now that she could not turn them off at all.

She let out a small snort. "And how much fresh air is there on the _astral plane?_" Minerva's voice mimicked the melodramatic tone.

"It is a place of the mind, Minerva, a place where such things do not come into account. A place where transfiguring tea bags into tables holds no merit." The quiet anger with which she spoke actually made Minerva look up.

They descended into a hostile silence, then; two people poignantly aware that they really didn't like each other at all, yet would be stuck within a six foot square area for an indefinite amount of time. The silence was tense, for a time; then bored, as Sybill once again fiddled with her clothing, and Minerva examined her fingernails.

She supposed the problem was in her practicality. What did divination actually _do_ for anybody? It was pointless, a waste of time and energy. Were there not muggle security cameras, Minerva could have done some rather practical things to make both she and Sybill more comfortable. What the hell divination give you in a crisis?

A sly, disloyal part of her mind purred into her ear: _If you'd listened to her, you wouldn't be in this situation in the first place._

Minerva sighed. This was ridiculous. She let her head loll against the wall behind her, then turned it so she was looking at Sybill.

"What did the woman give you?" she asked, finally, as a peace offering.

Sybill looked, up, as if surprised that Minerva had spoken. Perhaps she was. After all, Gryffindors often possessed stubbornness in equal quantity to their bravery, and when two lions declared enmity, the fur from the catfights could be astounding.

"I'm not sure, I didn't check." Her words were cautious, as if she expected a trap.

Minerva chuckled at her wry thought, then smiled, to show she really was attempting to make peace. "What were you waiting for? A moment when you didn't have anything to do?"

That brought a small smile to Sybill's lips, and a snort. She reached down and picked up the parcel Elaine had given her. It was long and cylindrical, a black cardboard roll with stoppers on either end. Both of the women peered at it with curiosity as Sybil pried one of the stoppers out and something heavy fell into her hand – the base of a bottle.

Surprise was etched in the lines upon her face as she slid it from within its casing, and peered at it. The bottle was made from dark green glass and, with that filter, the liquid inside appeared clear.

Minerva's voice came out quietly. "What is it?"

Sybill held it up before her eyes and twirled the bottle. There was no label. Her eyes shifted, as though she were about to make some terrible confession. "I have no idea."

Minerva smiled, but managed to restrain a laugh. "Perhaps there is a note inside the tube?"

Sybill laid the bottle on the floor of the elevator, picked up the packing tube, and shook it. A small piece of paper fluttered to the floor. There was a twisted, playful sort of smile on Sybill's face this time, as she leaned down to pick up the note, and looked at Minerva from beneath her eyebrows. "Perhaps you do possess the sight."

This time Minerva did laugh.

And then paused. She and Sybill were trapped in an elevator, and she had just _laughed? _Who ever would have thought?

Sybill's lips creased into a confused line. "It just says _Drink__ a cup of this to help you see._ I wonder what it is?"

Minerva glanced around at their steel prison, and wondered at just how long they'd be trapped inside. It wasn't often at all that she felt helpless, or reckless, but at that moment she felt both, like she was in seventh year and chasing the snitch through the Forbidden Forest for the glory of her house, all over again. Silencing any small inner voice that told her to be careful and sensible, she reached across to where the bottle lay on the floor, and snatched it up.

It took her a few moments to figure out the fiddly muggle seal, but she got it open. It smelled like tea, but she was quite sure it wasn't. Measuring the bottle roughly with her fingers, she lifted it to her lips and gulped down what was hopefully about a cup.

With a truly Gryffindor grin, she reached out an arm and extended the bottle to Sybill. "Let's find out, shall we?"

Sybill's eyes were huge behind her glasses. It seemed Minerva had surprised her beyond words for the second time that day. In a reversal of their usual roles, Sybill peered at the bottle dubiously. But hell, she wasn't sorted into Gryffindor for nothing, either. A Gryffindor never shirked on a challenge. She grabbed the vessel from Minerva's hand with the force of a blow, and heedless to measuring the dosage, poured a good few mouthfuls down her throat.


	3. One Green Bottle

For a long time, nothing happened. A glance at her wrist watch told Minerva that they had been in the steel box for some time over an hour, with no progress. She had begun to think that perhaps it _had_ only been tea in the bottle, that the power of this liquid was as fake as Sybill's divination abilities.

The light from the fluorescent bulbs made circular patterns on the metallic walls as Minerva pushed her head back against the surface behind her. Was it just her, or were there rainbows colours swirling, undulating, in a pattern? A dream like pattern, paisley… no, tartan… pink tartan, with black and yellow threads. Zigzags, then waves, then circles, then straight lines again. She shook her head. No.

But then Sybill gasped. "What on earth is _that_?" Her eyes were fixed on the wall just down from her, and Minerva followed her line of sight down to where she was staring.

The steel wall was growing inwards in a gigantic egg shape, shimmering with blues and purples and greens, like a soap bubble. Minerva could see their distorted faces in it, eyes wide with shock. It was expanding even as she watched, but keeping its shape, as if someone were blowing up a balloon.

Sybill whimpered, and scuttled over to her side of the elevator. Minerva peered at her curiously. "Oooh, I _hate_ bugs."

_Bugs?_ Minerva's gaze snapped back to the egg in the wall, and, sure enough, there were huge black beetles squeezing through it to land with plops upon the floor, and crawl over the walls. They were the same iridescent shade, their wings shimmered with spectrums, but they were as big as her palm, so she didn't quite appreciate the beauty. Their legs were spindly and hairy, and she could almost _feel_ them crawling over her, even though they weren't.

"They're _disgusting._" Sybill crouched beside Minerva, eyes as wide as saucers.

Minerva whispered. The bugs might hear her otherwise. "Maybe I can transfigure them."

Sybill clung to her arm. "But… your wand… won't the muggles see?"

Minerva smiled. "Not if I don't use it."

"Can you do that?"

"Does it matter?"

The physical sensation of transfiguration was familiar. Minerva stared hard at the beetles, and pushed at them the first thought that came into her head, as she would push an incantation through a wand.

"Ha! Socks!" She exclaimed, as the beetles turned to knitwear, and fell all around them, off the walls, from the ceiling.

Sybill made a noise of wonder. "Look at them! They're all different colours!"

And so they were. Red and green and blue and yellow and pink and indigo and orange, and mixtures of all of them, with little moving patterns. It didn't take long before the socks were covering the floor. One had little snitches with flapping wings on them, and the next little stars that twinkled. There was a pair that pulsed with purple and blue, and a pair patterned with checkers that shifted like a Rubix cube.

"They're so soft and woolly," Minerva reached out to touch them. "I wonder whose they are."

Sybill made a strange noise in her throat. "Err… Albus?"

"_Albus!_" There he was, poking his head through the place where the egg had been. There was now a hole. His pointy hat had made it, she was sure. A red one covered in yellow stars. "Are these… your socks?"

He smiled at her, but did not speak. Instead she saw his hands come through the hole, and stretch the steel like rubber. He squeezed through it, or more _it_ squeezed him through, as though it were giving birth to him.

Sybill smiled dreamily. "God, Minerva, we're so ripped. You and me. Tripping. Merlin…"

Minerva chuckled. Yes, it was a bit odd, wasn't it? Somewhere in her head she knew Albus couldn't be squeezing through the side of the elevator, but here he _was_, and it was rather interesting to watch.

"Merlin, Albus why are you naked!" Minerva shrieked, as she watched the Headmaster plop onto the floor. She managed to admire his form even then, how amazingly agile he was for a man of his age. She shook her head, and watched the Albus-that-was-but-wasn't climb to his feet, attempting to preserve his modesty with the bottom triangle of his beard, but not quite succeeding.

Sybill was laughing, and Minerva wondered why. She thought she must have wondered aloud, because Sybill spoke, though it was more semi coherent noises coming through snorts. "Funniest…dance…ever…seen."

Albus _was_ dancing. It was just a little twitch of the hips, at first, and then he seemed to get into it, tapping his feet and lifting his arms, swinging his hands in little circles. He turned his back to them, and gyrated his hips like he could hear some music they couldn't. Sybill was in fits of giggles, tears streaming down her face. Minerva could simple feel one of her eyebrows right up near her hairline.

But it wasn't music. Sybill noticed first. "House elves?"

There were house elves in his hair, little tiny ones, and they were tickling him. Minerva could see their little ears, and their long noses poking out from within the long white strands. All of them were wearing little tartan tea towels.

Albus winked at her, and then his hat began to melt. It melted into something like what the elevator was made of, only blue, and as it dripped down his face he melted like a candle, into a puddle on the floor.

Minerva pushed herself back further against the wall. "If it touched us it's going to melt us like it melted Albus!" There was genuine panic in her voice, and it seemed to affect Sybill, who screeched and pushed Minerva into the corner as the blue goo swelled and seeped toward them. At the middle of the puddle there seemed to be a hole, as if the elevator was dissolving, too. They cowered together in the corner, clinging to one another, as they watched the substance that was threatening them seep ever closer.

Sybill, eyes wide with something that might have been revelation, pointed her finger at the mess. "Evanesco!" she cried, and watched as it turned to smoke. "Ha!" She was grinning. "I win!"

Minerva slumped back against the wall in relief. "But where is the smoke going to go?"

The smoke, it seemed, was not content to just go away. Instead it thickened, and twirled around, until it was so thick that Minerva could not see the other side of the elevator, and could only just make out her companion.

"Aaah, we're going to suffocate!" Sybill was beating her palms against Minerva's arm, and the transfiguration mistress wished she would stop.

"I can breathe just fine, Sybill!"

The beating stopped. "Oh yes. Actually, it's a rather pretty shade of purple, isn't it? It smells kind of like lavender."

Oh Merlin, it _did_. Minerva _hated_ lavender. She coughed, and covered her nose with her shirt, and tried not to smell it, but it _stank_, and the smell got into her nostrils and wouldn't go away. The smoke did have a purple tinge, too. How disgusting.

Sybill moved away a little, seemed to relax, as if smoke she could hardly breathe in was normal. Minerva's eyes were watering, poking out from the collar of her shirt.

"So… relaxing…" She arranged herself in the lotus position and took a deep breath, and with it, sucked in all the smoke in a pale purple stream, sighing contentedly.

Minerva brought her nose out from beneath the cotton blouse to sniff the air tentatively. Thank Merlin, it was clear. But Sybill was another story. Her eyes were closed and she was rocking slowly from side to side, emitting a very low hum.

But her attention did not stay on Sybill for long. There was something… happening. It wasn't freakish things on the other side of the elevator, or strange colours upon the walls. It was _within_ her. Like something growing. Like a vine.

A vine.

Her head spun, and then her eyes came into sharp focus on the shawl around Sybill's shoulders. It was intricate, weblike, net-like. Like it was woven of many, many pieces of grass. Only red was the wrong colour for grass. Wasn't it? The shawl became grass. It turned a dark green-brown, and went all coarse. Different to before. Not just visions, Minerva was sure. Actual grass. Had she done it?

If it was a vine it should have leaves then, shouldn't it? No use in doing things by halves. The vine sprouted leaves, tiny ones at first, but then bigger, huge green curling ones as big as Hippogriff tongues. It grew and grew until it had engulfed Sybill's torso completely. All that could be seen was a pair of legs poking out underneath it, and little head resting atop, with comically large, closed eyelids.

Minerva thought she had better stop, if she was doing this. But it was kind of fun.

The bandana around Sybill's head, it looked kind of like a banana leaf. Well, it did when she concentrated, and it turned into one. The woman was just wearing so many _clothes_ that looked like other things. It was rather amusing, really. Her skirt, forest moss, like a spider's web, growing over her knees and spreading onto the floor; her blouse invisible beneath the vine that obscured her.

The cardboard tube that lay on the floor, discarded, looked kind of like the trunk of a tree. Indeed, it was made of trees. Perhaps it was time it was allowed to take on its natural form. One end began to sprout feelers, like long probing worms that lengthened like jelly, feeling their way. The spread out in a fan, until they found the gap beneath the elevator door; and, with something that looked a bit like glee, all slithered in that direction and fastened there.

The cardboard tube seemed to have been formed in a spiral, if the way it sprag up into the air in a DNA like spiral was any indication. It seemed to solidify as it went, turning to wood, and she watched it and willed it to grow.

It did.

Branches, bursting forth and erupting in showers of leaves, one branch like a weeping willow, the next like an Australian gum tree, a hybrid of every tree she had ever seen. The greenery blocked the ceiling light so they were shrouded in twilight, swimming in a sea of leaves. Minerva smiled to herself. Each leaf grew and changed into a flower that sprouted from the floor, and moss webbed itself across the walls. The temperature seemed tropical, but cool.

Minerva closed her eyes. She almost felt as though she was drifting, as though she were moving, like that feeling when you are nearly asleep. She could almost feel a wind against her skin. She could almost feel a flow of air.

That was how the muggles found them. Their senses didn't quite believe it, but here was a tree, way too big to have ever been fit inside an elevator, and moss covering the walls that would have taken a week of moisture to even begin. A blanket of leaves, some curling brown, as though they'd just entered the jungle. A woman they could not rouse wrapped around with a vine, wearing a banana leaf on her head and a skirt that seemed like an elasticised fungi. And right in the midst of it, an old lady who wasn't really old at all, in jeans and a blouse, sitting with her eyes closed as if in a dream, a serene smile upon her face.

There were monkeys in her jungle, Minerva thought, monkeys come to take them away. Ugly monkeys, in uniforms, ugly loud monkeys.

And then she thought of Albus, and he was there, in nothing but a bathrobe and bunny slippers, and his mouth made a little 'o' of surprise.

Hmm, at least he wasn't dancing because there were house elves in his beard, this time.

Whatever.


	4. Just Hang In There

"…Really very irresponsible..."

Minerva wasn't really listening, because she knew it was futile. It was much more interesting to watch Albus _try_ and be angry with her and try not to laugh at the same time.

"…Memories had to be modified, Minerva…"

It was a strange role reversal. Usually it was she who lectured _him_ on responsibility and duty. Usually she who lectured many others on those subjects.

"…Minerva, are you even listening?"

She blinked, glanced up into his eyes, and a smile twitched at the corners of her lips. "Actually, no."

Albus sighed, pursed his lips in the most unusual manner, then seemed to falter, and broke out into a grin. "Merlin damn it, Minerva, why can I not be angry with you?"

She chuckled, and stepped closer to him. "Because you are impressed. All the time."

He arched a brow. "I am, am I? Well…" he looked about, as if to find evidence to refute her claim; then screwed up his face like a petulant school boy. "Well, it did take me quite a while to get _rid_ of the tree. You transfigured it all wandlessly, and then you _apparated_ me across the United Kingdom. Has no one ever told you not to accept anything to eat or drink from a hippy?"

She rolled her shoulders in a shrug. "I was stuck in an elevator with Sybill Trelawney. What is that muggle saying about desperate times and desperate measures?" She arched a brow at him "Has Sybill come out of her trance, yet?"

"Last night. She shared a few of her visions with me. Frightening, heartening. I'm not sure whether or not to hope they are true."

She wasn't quite sure what to reply. It seemed that the hallucinogen, whatever it had been, had brought their wild magic to the surface. Dangerous, possibly, but rather exhilarating.

"I found out what was in it, by the way." He spoke as if he had been reading her mind, and his eyes twinkled. He smiled like a child with a secret.

Minerva searched him with her eyes. "How?"

"Severus analysed the contents of the bottle." The smile grew wider then. He lobed to bait her, and she was just like a fish, or perhaps a cat.

"Severus! You didn't… tell him…?"

He chuckled with obvious mirth. "Of course I did. Everyone needs a good laugh once in a while, even Severus Snape!"

She smiled at him, mock sweetly. "Did his villa in Hogsmeade appear comfortable?"

For a moment, Albus looked disconcerted, but he hid it well. "I suppose so. Why?"

"Because you'd best hurry and ask him for asylum before it gets too late – you're certainly not sharing my bed tonight!" And with a small smile, she turned; arms folded, and sat herself resolutely down on one of the lounges, back to him, so she didn't have to see the look on his face.

"Oh, come on Minerva…" His voice was like the wine of a puppy, pathetic but sweet. Minerva steeled herself. She _didn't_ like dogs. "…Don't be like that." She felt his weight press against the lounge behind her, and he began to pluck at the pins that held her hair in its tight bun.

"Albus…" There was warning in her tone.

"Oh, come, Minerva, don't be like that. Don't you want to know what was in the stuff?" His fingers played lightly against the back of her neck, but she refused to be manipulated by him again.

"Not particularly." She did; oh Merlin, she did – curiosity and the cat, of course – but she wasn't going to give him the satisfaction.

Slowly but surely, her bun was giving way to a single, thick curl of twisted hair. He traced fingers from the top of her head down the back of her neck, pulling the thick strands apart as he did. "Mmm, Minerva, I love your hair."

She could not help the smile that crept into her voice then. "I know."

"You smell good enough to eat, as always." She wore vanilla. She was rather fond of it, and she knew how much Albus loved sweets.

His hands cupped her shoulders and kneaded the muscles that tied themselves in knots at the base of her neck. Even when she wasn't teaching, she was a very pensive person. She could feel his breath against her cheek and his words were almost inaudible in her ear.

"Tea, laced with LSD and mescaline. More of the former than the latter. No wonder the effects were so strong. No wonder I ended up in London in my pyjamas through no will of my own. No wonder you turned those men into monkeys."

Minerva was vaguely impressed by the sheer carelessness of what she had done; it was really very out of character for her, really very reckless. Drinking an unknown substance supplied by muggles of questionable beliefs. Alastor Moody was going to thoroughly lecture her when he found out. It was something she would have chastised members of her house for severely, something that would have resulted in loss of house points and very long detentions. Something that showed a complete lack of common sense.

And yet…

It had been fun. Losing control had been fun. Doing something unexpected; fun. There was precious little that she didn't do by many years of formula, practice and routine, and a simple disruption to normality had been rather welcome.

Even if it did involve Sybill Trelawney.

She turned, then, twisted in Albus' grasp and turned on the lounge to face him. It was a movement quite out of the ordinary for a woman her age, or of any age, really, but twisting herself about using her back was something Minerva was good at. One did not spend time as a cat without learning such things. Her hands locked over Albus', and she eyed him with a predatory, feline gaze.

He smiled at her wickedly, blinked his eyes, and the lounge she was kneeling upon morphed into a bed of ridiculous proportions.

"Show off." She smirked.

He winked at her. "Not at all."

She could remember the feeling of what had occurred during the trip, could remember it well, the rising of wild magic within her, untamed by wand, using her as its vessel and exploding rather than imploding, as it did when she transformed. She wondered if she could recreate it.

It felt like an elastic band breaking, when she did it this time, and, as she watched, the simple robes she wore morphed into a long sapphire chemise, and his into a bathrobe. She smiled at him indulgently, and he arched a brow.

"Well… I'm impressed. But not impressed enough."

He came down on top of her, then, and his kisses ravished her. Curtains fell around the bed to shield them from the bright light of the room, and in an artificial twilight he moulded her with his hands and turned her to liquid beneath him.

Then she was atop him, pinning him to the bed and gazing down upon him with hungry eyes. Reaching one hand out behind her, she whispered "Accio" and felt something cool and hard land in her palm.

She grinned. She hadn't known where they had come from, at first, when she had pulled them from her jeans, but thinking back she remembered lifting them from one of the muggle security guards, while in delirium. She hadn't known they were real, at the time.

But they were.

She dangled them before Albus, and something bestial lit his eyes. A pair of muggle handcuffs, in all their simplistic glory.

"Now I _am_ impressed, Minerva. You've always been an animal, but where did this come from?"

Her eyes twinkled. "Let's just say the kitten has found her inner tiger." They were not hard to figure out. Within moments she had cuffed him to the wrought iron headboard. Smiling, she pulled the cord of his robe out from beneath him as if extracting a snake from a bush. Kissing his nose, she tied it about his eyes, so he could neither see nor touch her.

She leaned close to him. "You know, Albus, I actually didn't realise how manipulative you were until you convinced me to go with Sybill. That was really very mean of you. You could have saved me the whole experience by going with her yourself."

She trailed her fingers down his chest. "I just thought you might like a demonstration of just how manipulative I can be in return."

He chuckled, deep in his throat. "Oh, I'm sure I will."

She grinned, although he could not see it, and slid off his body.

"Minerva…" There was a note of question in his voice.

Padding to the wardrobe and sliding her own bathrobe about her slim figure, she did not try to keep the glee out of her voice. "Yes, dear?"

"What are you doing?"

"Oh, don't you fret about that. You just hang in there."

He laughed, then. "Oh, Minerva, you _are_ a wench." There was a noise, then, as if he had tried to transfigure the handcuffs into something else, but it was a sound of failure.

The chuckle was gone from his voice, then. "Minerva…"

"They're iron, dear."

"Minerva…"

"Like I said, you just hang in there. I promise I shall be appeased my desire for revenge within… let's say, _within the hour_."

"Minerva…"

But his only answer was melodic laughter drifting down the hall as Minerva went to make herself a nice hot cup of tea.


End file.
